Fools' Harvest. Erle Cox
looked at one another, and I almost smiled at the concern in their faces. Their comment was characteristic of each. Said Lynda, her voice deep with feeling, "Why crucify yourself again, Wally?"
"A small price to pay if the lesson is learned," I replied.
From the practical angle Fergus put in, "And need I remind you of what the P.P. would do if they got hold of your literary efforts. Three minutes trial, three minutes to the nearest wall, and then—phut! Don't be a mug, Wally."
I laughed. "The case hi a nutshell!"
"Besides," he went on, "Suppose you did write it you wouldn't have an earthly hope of doing anything with it."
"It would be worth doing even for the faint chance of getting it through to the next visit of the United States Commission of Inspection," I contended.
"You're right about it being a faint hope," Fergus growled. "Lord! It makes me sick to think how the P.P. hoodwinks those futile Commissions. And then our lords and masters have the nerve to publish their reports to tell us of the 'broad humanity of their administration.' I'd like to have five minutes up a dark lane with the American gent who wrote that phrase."
"Do you think they are really hoodwinked?" I asked Fergus. "They might be playing possum. You know the Yanks are not fools exactly, as a rule."
"If they're not," he retorted sourly, "those reports must be a salve to the national conscience. Anyway, it wouldn't make any difference to us."
Then Lynda returned to the attack. "Listen, Wally, why take the risk now. We have only twelve years to endure before the evacuation. You could do it then."
"Evacuation!" I snorted. "Lynda, we've got to face the fact sooner or later. There is not going to be any evacuation."
"But the Treaty of Berlin!" she gasped, her glance going from me to Fergus.
He nodded his head. "I'm afraid Wally is right."
"But how could they—" her voice broke.
"Lyn, old girl," I said, "we must recognise now that so far as Australia is concerned, the Treaty of Berlin was a complete washout. At the time the Powers gave the P.P. twenty years' right of occupation during the period of rehabilitation, each of them knew it would be permanent. The clause was a sop to their consciences. Think for a moment! Who is going to enforce the evacuation obligation? Not Berlin or Rome—their people wouldn't allow another war, for one thing. Can Britain, even with the best will in the world? Russia has too much internal trouble to bother about anything else. And, as for the United States, they'll utter pious platitudes, and fall back on the national policy of non-intervention. No! we're finished!"
[Burton did less than justice to the United States. Washington was fully aware of the danger arising from the twenty years' occupation clause. It was with the object of ultimately enforcing it that the Pan-American Confederation was formed, which made the evacuation of Australia the leading plank in its policy of control of the Pacific—a policy that bore fruit in 1966.—Eds.]
"Yes," added Fergus, "and the deuce of it is that the P.P. can use the evidence of the American Commissions of Inspection to prove their justification for sitting tight. They are treating us with kindness and generosity, and we are repaying them with savage hostility, and are totally unfitted to govern ourselves."
"I'm afraid this is a nasty shock for you, Lynda," I said.
She smiled up at us both. "Not so much as you would think. I suppose we all thought it before, and have not put it into words."
That was like my sister. Her pluck was always unconquerable, and I never knew her try to dodge an issue, however disagreeable. I think the hard knocks only welded her closer to Fergus.
"I'm afraid," I said, "I'll have to make a move to the camp. My permit is only till 10.30, and the blighters will cancel it for keeps if I'm late."
"Wait," Lyn said, jumping up. "I have some scones."
"Not on your life," I laughed. "I'm not eating your scones. You two would give your hides to feed me, but you're not going to!'
"Oh! Wally!" she was a little hurt at my refusal.
"Don't be sore with me, Lyn," I protested. "I know you want me to have them. If you and Fergus won't have them Rex must. He is more important than I am."
"But I made them for you," she pleaded.
"And I am sure you did. But—" my eyes fell on her knitting, "How many meals did you go without to buy that wretched wool substitute for towhead's undies? Now, the truth!"
Lyn looked guilty. "He must have his clothes."
"Surely!" I answered, "and therefore you and Fergus must develop a streak of lean in your physical bacon, and yet you want me to eat your scones. No, my dear girl! Honesty before social polish is my newest motto."
Fergus grinned at me, understanding. "He's a dour dell, Lyn, and it will take more than you to move him."
"Oh! You men!" She resigned herself to the inevitable. "But Wally, please don't write anything," she asked, returning womanlike to another problem. "I'll give no promises, clear."
I stood up, nerving myself for the real reason of my visit. "Lyn, I've something to say that will hurt a bit."
She stood silent, and waiting.
"I'm afraid I will have to cut out my visits to you—at least for a while."
She put out her hand in appeal.
"You know," I hurried on, "I'm mixed up in things we don't talk about, and the risk of bringing suspicion on you and Fergus is not fair. My coming here is too dangerous for you."
"But you're not suspect?" Her voice caught, and fear came to her eyes.
"Honestly, Lyn, I think not." I reassured her. "You know how careful we are, and the precautions we take. If they suspected me I should have been picked out before now. But the risk is always there. Sooner or later—well, we can't afford to take risks."
"Were you followed?" asked Fergus anxiously.
"Yes," I laughed, "but that is mere routine. Every man who is given leave at night has a trailer. Mine's cooling his heels outside, and, by hove! I'm going back through the swamp, and I'll make them cooler before he has finished with me."
"Well, perhaps," Lynda said wistfully, "you can send us messages through Bob Clifford."
I was afraid of that, but I had to tell them. "You will have to know sooner or later, Lyn. They got Clifford this afternoon."
Fergus rose to his feet with a curse on his lips, and he was a man who seldom used "language." Lyn covered her eyes with her hands. "Has he been—" The word would not come to her lips.
"No," I replied, "but it's almost worse. They have drafted him for the Yampi mines."
"Have you seen anything or is it hearsay?" asked
"I saw him in the gang as they were being marched to the transport. We just looked at one another. It was too dangerous to give any sign of recognition. But I feel certain he knew that I understood," I explained.
"Did you hear what happened," asked Lyn. There were tears in her eyes.
"Just the usual thing. He and about twenty-five others were called out at afternoon muster, and were marched to the transport direct. No trial or explanations. The yard Commandant announced to the muster that they had been drafted for Yampi."
"That cruiser business last week, I suppose," said Fergus, thoughtfully.
"Most likely," I replied. "But of course they never admit anything. Still, when a hole thirty feet long is blown below the waterline of a perfectly new 15,000 ton cruiser while she is lying at her moorings, we mustn't be surprised if some nasty-minded officer of the P.P. tries to connect us with the joyful event. Have you heard anything about it, Fergus'?"
He shook his head. "You know I don't hobnob with the P.P., but I have picked up enough of the language